


Verse: Afterlife

by BubbaKnowlton



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Tags will be added, canon character death(s), de-aging AU, drabbles from my dukat's father rp blog that i thought i should gather here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-07-10 21:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 6,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15958304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubbaKnowlton/pseuds/BubbaKnowlton
Summary: Procal Dukat exists in a void, an afterlife he can't begin to explain. He drifts in and out of consciousness, being forced to watch his son's rise to power, and his fall from grace. One day, his granddaughter appears beside him.//Whenthe girlawoke, she found herself lying on a flat surface that seemed to be made of the night sky. As she sat up and looked around, all she could see was the expanse of space.Procalcould remember his first time waking up in this strange void.Stars - everywhere.Beautiful, shining, like specks of gems.Distant.Cold.





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> yeah so i started a rp blog without knowing how to rp so i thought it'd be fun to just write drabbles for it until i figure things out  
> also my blog/these drabbles are going with the assumption that Procal is in fact, Dukat's father's first name.

**Afterlife - Introduction**

Cardassians didn’t believe in an _afterlife_ , not after the denouncement of the Hebitian religion - the _Oralian Way_.

But, looking around the dark space he now occupied, **Procal Dukat** had to admit he’d never thought the afterlife would be like…

**_This._ **

He’d spoken to some creatures so long ago that even his fine tuned Cardassian memory had forgotten who they were, what they’d said. A little voice in the back of his mind hissed ‘ _they wanted you to forget_ ,’ and the paranoia inside of him agreed. **He** agreed.

The creatures hadn’t spoken to him since, not in decades. _Was it decades?_ Existence was like a dream, a nightmare. When consciousness came to him, he expected to wake up on Cardassia, in that interrogation room, that sharply dressed Obsidian Order agent standing over him.

Instead, he existed in this purgatory, drifting in and out of awareness. It was out of his control, and possibly in the hands of the creatures. He wasn’t sure how they were doing this, showing him select bits of a linear timeline.

His wife, his homeland. His daughter in law and her children, his son. Others he didn’t bother thinking of when he did not have to see them.

Long ago, he’d asked if this was punishment for his crimes, for betraying Cardassia with his ambition, and received no answer. As life went on, and the visions focused more and more on his son, he began to wonder if this wasn’t punishment for him, but for Skrain.

The _Prophets_ , the _Pah-wraiths_ , whatever showed him his son’s rise and fall, were they just waiting for Skrain to die? So that when he joined him in this afterlife, he would know his father had seen every one of his disgraces, his horrible mistakes?

The half-Bajoran girl his son had sired flooded his vision, _Tora Ziyal_ , and Procal scowled. If he were alive, he would have never bothered to remember her name, would have followed in his wife’s footsteps and disowned Skrain as she did. But in death-

His son’s second in command raised his weapon and fired.

It really was his son’s hell he was occupying, Procal thought, as she appeared beside him like she’d been transported. Her body was being cradled by his son, and for the first time, he could look away from the vision. All there was to look at was the girl.

Oddly enough, he found that looking at her was preferable to the view of his son being consumed by grief.


	2. 1

**Afterlife - 1**

When _the girl_ awoke, she found herself lying on a flat surface that seemed to be made of the night sky. As she sat up and looked around, all she could see was the expanse of space. **Procal** could remember his first time waking up in this strange void.

Stars - everywhere.

Beautiful, shining, like specks of gems.

Distant.

_Cold._

He stayed behind her, and announced his presence with a greeting. “Tora Ziyal. Welcome to my home.”

There was no telling just how much space he occupied, so he could not truly stake a claim. But he had resided here for so long, or perhaps mere moments, and he felt as though he could call it that. Though it would never be home, would never be _Cardassia_ , it was all he had.

She turned, surprised. Procal couldn’t see any recognition in her eyes as she stood up and stared at him. He didn’t expect her to know him, how foolish would that be? _His son_ had barely mentioned him to her, only to warn her away from _the agent._

“Who… Who are you? Where am I? I was just with my father-”

She resembled his son. A pity, really. He might have been able to convince himself to tolerate her existence if she looked nothing like his son, could have focused instead on how foolish the man had been for claiming a child that looked so much like its mother. All he felt was disgust, seeing his son’s features on her face. It seemed that was all he’d been capable of feeling, lately. After seeing all the visions showing his son’s _disgrace_ -

Oh, but she was still looking at him, boldness in her eyes. Did she suspect he was the one who whisked her away? It was only logical. In another time, he would make up a lie to tell her, refuse to let her know of their relation. 

She would just see the visions, anyways, it would be pointless.

With a strong feeling that whatever had brought them here would be angry with him for lying, he finally answered, “Don’t you recognize your own grandfather, child?” _There._ She knew he was dead, she would figure it out on her own. She wasn’t stupid, from what he’d seen.


	3. 2

**Afterlife - 2**

Even after he tells her who he is as vaguely as possible, like any self-respecting Cardassian would do when faced with a hybrid relative that had to be acknowledged, _the girl_ doesn’t believe him. It’s a bit infuriating to see her eyes narrow, a frown on her lips.

Really, **Procal** thought it would be obvious. After all, his son has inherited all of his handsome features. Features that have then passed down to her, dulled by her Bajoran blood.

Didn’t his son bother showing her a picture of him when they were on Cardassia? Or had his wife gotten rid of all his pictures when he admitted his guilt and all of his crimes during his trial?

Concerning, that his memory wasn’t so perfect anymore. Perhaps the creatures that had brought them there were eating away at him, picking off fragments of his mind. Would he watch whatever they had done to him be done to this girl? Nothing had appeared to speak to her, not like they’d spoken to him. 

If only he could remember what they’d said to him-

“Who are you?” she demands again, bringing him back from his thoughts. He looks her over. The phaser wound that had killed her was gone, just like all his injuries from his interrogation were gone.

Perhaps it would be better not to speak to her at all. Exist in silence, let himself fade to unconsciousness once more. She would see the visions, learn where she was on her own.

Yet, he is lonely, as much as it pains him to admit it to himself. He’s a Cardassian, talking is in his nature. The girl is foolish, but captivated the agent, made plenty of friends - she will be a decent conversation partner.

“I am Procal Dukat, your grandfather. Didn’t your father tell me who I was?”

“My grandfather is dead! He was murdered! You can’t be him. Why have you taken me? Where am I?”

He can’t help but be impatient with her. She is a Bajoran, a young girl, his granddaughter. She should know better than to take up such a tone with him. Scowling, he snarls at her. “We’re both dead, child. Don’t you remember that your father’s second in command shot you? Your father is weeping over your body as we speak!”

There’s a flash of light, a loud buzz, and when he comes back to awareness, they are sitting next to each other. The girl is crying, and like a viewscreen, he can see the vision of his son being captured by the Federation. He looks at her, and she quiets down enough to ask, “Have they spoken to you too?” He nods, and she adds, “They said you were telling the truth. What are they? Why did they bring us here?”

Despite his theories, he answers both questions with an honest, “I don’t know, child.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow/talk to me on Tumblr: @oblio-k and @procaldukat


	4. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and now we go out of order and i introduce my version of Tora Naprem

**Afterlife - 3**

His _granddaughter_ , and **Procal** weeps internally at the small betrayal of his sensibilities to call her such, is upset with him. Once more, he can’t find her, no matter how hard he looks. And he searches, wandering the wide expanse of stars, looking for the wall she is hiding behind. He traces his hands over nonexistent tabletops, giddy at the the sensation of touch.

His senses have been so deprived he’s surprised he hasn’t lost his mind sooner. No wonder he remained in his unconscious state for so long. For an eternity there was nothing to look at, nothing to hear or taste or smell or touch, not without the visions. And then the girl appeared, and he could see and hear again, taste her scent whenever he sipped the air. But touch- touch had been rare. After he’d struck her, she’d kept her distance.

“ _Ziyal!_ Ziyal, my granddaughter! It’s very rude to ignore your elders, you know? If we were home, I would be forced to punish you.” _If we were home._ He can’t help but chuckle at the thought. His wife had disowned _Skrain_ for bringing Ziyal to her home- if he’d tried to accept the girl on Cardassia, his wife would have called him insane.

Procal keeps walking, arms spread to feel for the walls she has become so adept at creating. As he walks, the euphoria of touch wears off into paranoia. What if he’s alone again? What will he do? It’s miserable, waiting for Skrain to die. Miserable, rewatching his son’s pathetic life, over and over. If it wasn’t for the conversation he could have with Ziyal, he wouldn’t be able to bear it.

He slows his pace when he feels like he’s being watched. The small, rational part of him tries to convince him that it is just Ziyal, waiting for him to settle down before coming out again.

Turning, Procal sees a tall Bajoran wearing a long dress with short sleeves. There’s something familiar about her, and it clicks when he sees that the ridges on her nose match his granddaughter’s. “You must be Tora Naprem!” Of course it is, he recognizes her now. He’s seen her in the visions too many times to count. He laughs, unsure of why he’s laughing.

 _Naprem_ glances over at a vision being played. It’s Skrain, as usual. He’s weeping over a grave. A red haired woman approaches him. It repeats. It glitches. When he looks back at Naprem, her eyes have been replaced by the stars.

“First Justice, haven’t you realized?”

“Realized what?”

“Skrain went mad long before our daughter joined you here.”

“Yes, yes, Ziyal figured that out. Cried until her lovely little eyes turned red. She has my wife’s eyes, did you know that? Did Skrain ever say that to you? I wonder if he noticed, that she has his mother’s eyes. Wretched little thing.” He turns and shouts, “Ziyal! Stop hiding, you’re behaving like a hatchling!”

Procal doesn’t believe Naprem likes him very much. She’s frowning at him. The vision switches to Skrain ushering Naprem and Ziyal onto the transport. Ziyal is crying. She looks so pitiful. “Skinny girl. Didn’t you feed her? Oh- do you want to help me find her? She’s hiding from me. I think she’ll come out if she knows you’ve joined us in waiting for Skrain.”

Her eyes are back to normal. Were they ever actually stars? She tilts her head. It’s disconcerting to look up at her. She has a few inches on him, had an inch on his son. “Is that what we’re doing?”

“Yes, yes.” He waves a dismissive arm at her. “Come along, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover. Ziyal could be anywhere, and who knows when Skrain will arrive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow/talk to me on Tumblr: @procaldukat and @oblio-k


	5. Resurrection: Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly alive, and decades younger, Procal Dukat finds himself on Deep Space Nine, surrounded by people and hallways he knows intimately but has never seen personally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and Now i start fiddling around w other AUs within this AU. This takes place after the previous drabble, but is the beginning of its own story line  
> i just wanted to write about grumpy little lizards interacting w the main cast lmao

**Afterlife: Resurrection - Introduction**

He’s talking to _Ziyal and Naprem_ , explaining the basics of the Cardassian legal system to them as they watch _Skrain_ attending his trial on the vision screen, when all of the sudden they’re not there. The vision is gone, and the endless expanse of the stars has been replaced with Cardassian walls. For a moment he wonders if he’s home, if the past eternity has been nothing but a nightmare, but then he hears a voice demand, in Federation Standard, “Who are you?”

 **Procal** turns and sees the Captain Skrain is obsessed with, _Benjamin Sisko_. He quickly realizes he’s standing in the man’s office, and that the Bajoran woman, _Kira Nerys_ , is pointing a phaser at him.

Is this some sort of new test from the creatures?

They’re waiting for an answer as he adjusts to his surroundings. The lights are too bright, and he’s suddenly aware of being cold. He straightens up, wondering why he feels so short compared to the Captain. “I’m First Justice Procal Dukat.”

The Bajoran woman barks a laugh, and he scowls at her. If this was… however many years ago, he would reprimand her for laughing at him. But Naprem and Ziyal have been reminding him not to be rude about their being Bajoran, and he decides to hold his tongue.

Captain Sisko frowns. “How did you get here?”

He thought the man was supposed to be the **_Emissary_**. Couldn’t he tell? “The creatures have sent me.”

“Creatures?”

“The Prophets.” Procal recalls one of the visions that had only appeared once. “Or perhaps the Pah-wraiths. I’m not sure.”

“What? Is this some kind of joke?”

“Most assuredly not.” He looks around. It seems Ziyal and her mother had not been sent with him. He’s disgusted to find that he feels lonely without them.

“Who are you?” Sisko demands, again. He rises from his seat.

“Procal Dukat.” He already answered. Why did he have to say it again?

“Listen, kid, Procal Dukat is dead. And even if he wasn’t, he’s certainly not some child.”

“Child?” he echoes, and looks down at himself. Sure enough, his body looks decades younger, like a young teenager, and he’s in a smaller version of the clothes he died in, blood stains and all. He touches one of the stains, but it’s dry. “These are the clothes I was wearing when that _Obsidian Order agent_ killed me. Why would they put me in this?”


	6. Resurrection: 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Procal gets brought down to the infirmary, and meets his granddaughter for the second time.

**Afterlife: Resurrection - 1**

He’s taken down to the infirmary by the changeling, Odo. It’s strange, walking among these people, walking through the station, and knowing it all, despite the fact that he has never been to Terok Nor, and has never met any of these people. The doctor scans him and determines that he’s healthy, if not cold, and with a stress headache. He’s given a fresh change of clothes and a thermal blanket while he scans him for any indication that he’s telling the truth.

“I can compare his DNA to a sample of Ziyal’s, see if they’re related.” He calls the girl down, and Procal is curious to know whether or not his granddaughter knows him, here.

“You don’t honestly believe he’s Gul Dukat’s father, do you, doctor?”

“He’s been exposed to some sort of radiation I can’t identify, with no ill effects. If he’s been transported through time, that could be a residual trace of whatever brought him here.”

“I have not been transported through time. I have been brought back to life. As a _child._ ”

“You remember everything about your life?”

He’s not sure why he answers their questions. Maybe he believes it will get him out of this infirmary faster. “As much as can be expected, for my age. My real age. I remember dying.”

“And then what do you remember?”

“The creatures put me in a strange dimension and forced me to watch fragments of my son’s life.” 

“Creatures?”

“The Bajoran gods- the prophets, the pah-wraiths. They brought me there after I was murdered.” A horrible thought occurs to him, then. What if the creatures are using him to change the future? If they showed him what his son was fated to do, so he could stop him, or help him? He decides that he’s going to keep that theory to himself.

The changeling huffs. “You certainly looked like you’ve been near a murder. Whose blood is on his clothes, Doctor?”

“His own, though I can’t find a single injury on him. The only thing wrong with him is a headache from stress.”

He wishes the doctor would give him a hypo for the pain, but doesn’t ask for one. He won’t show weakness in front of them. 

A few minutes after being called by the human doctor, his granddaughter walks in. Procal is so relieved to see someone he’s actually familiar with that he forgets his self control and smiles. “Ziyal!”

She stares at him in confusion, no hint of recognition in her eyes. His smile fades, and he hates the disappointment that settles like poison in his chest. Of course she doesn’t know him. She hasn’t died yet in this timeline. This isn’t the granddaughter he had spent a fraction of eternity talking to, alone in the void together until her mother appeared.

He had appeared in the clothes he died in. She’s in a dress he had only seen in the visions. Not the wide necked dress that soldier had shot her in. There is no phaser mark.

The shapeshifter gives him an odd look. Procal turns his face and scowls. “If you’re really Procal, why are you happy to see her? Cardassians of your kind aren’t a fan of hybrids.”

Will the creatures punish him for being truthful? If he tells them he knows when the girl dies, it might alter the future. He can’t be sure, and is afraid to find out the answer, if the creatures intend him to manipulate this universe just to save the life of one girl. “Things change after an eternity.”


	7. Resurrection: 2

**Afterlife: Resurrection - 2**

His granddaughter doesn’t know him, and the Federation doctor takes her aside to explain what’s going on. Procal watches them from the corner of his eye, and wonders if Ziyal and Naprem are watching him from the void, or if they simply don’t exist anymore. It’s a depressing thought, that, and he suspects his child’s body is making him more prone to sentiment.

“My grandfather?” the girl repeats, incredulous. “Doctor, he’s younger than I am!”

“He says he’s been de-aged, somehow. We’ll run a quick test, and the results will tell us whether or not he’s telling the truth.”

She’s quiet for a moment, and then asks, “And if he is?”

“Then we’ll figure out how he got here, and send him back.”

Procal chooses that as the perfect time to join the conversation. “Doctor, I’m quite certain the only way to send me back is if the Prophets choose to. They brought me here.”

“The Prophets?”

Union, it’s so strange to be back at square one with her. He’s been talking to her for so long that it’s almost disconcerting to hear the disbelief in her voice, see the suspicion in her eyes. His head is pounding, and he’d give almost anything to be back talking about Cardassian law with her and Naprem.

“They’re awful, meddling things. But, as you Bajorans would say, the Prophets always have a reason for what they do.”

The doctor performs his test, and then Procal lays back on the biobed, staring up at the ceiling. The shapeshifter tries to ask him more questions, but he’s fed up with answering. He’ll speak after the doctor confirms he’s been telling the truth about his identity.

“ _Genetic match confirmed_.” He directs a smirk at the shapeshifter. _Ha!_ He thinks. _You were foolish to doubt me._

“Computer, rerun scan.”

“Really, Doctor, is that necessary?” he drawls, knowing that they’ll think of his son, with his same sneering tone. It’s one that makes Naprem amused, but when he glances at Ziyal, she just looks surprised, not paying attention to him. He tsks, and sits up. “Do you doubt your computer?”

“ _Genetic match confirmed,_ ” the computer repeats.

“He really is Ziyal’s grandfather.” The doctor looks almost unnerved. Finally, the human turns to look at him. “Odo, if you could use your contacts on Cardassia to get a scan of Procal Dukat’s DNA, I’ll be able to compare the sample, tell whether or not he’s a clone.”

“And what will you do with me while we wait for that?”

“I think we should put him in a holding cell,” the shapeshifter grabs his arm. Procal growls at him.

The doctor sighs, looking exasperated. “Odo, he hasn’t done anything wrong. He can stay here.” A pointed glare has him amending, “Or perhaps he could be assigned some quarters.”


	8. Resurrection: 3

**Afterlife: Resurrection - 3**

Procal had always had a short temper as a child, and it’s back in force as the human doctor insists that he must be some sort of clone with an implanted memory. He barely manages to keep himself from snapping at the man, and his headache doesn’t do his self-control any favors. The doctor and the shapeshifter theorize together, and Ziyal stands near them, eyes flickering between them as they talk.

It’s cold and bright, so he wraps the thermal blanket tighter around himself and squints, turning his eyes down to the floor. The clothes he’s in are thin and light, and he feels like his scales and ridges are turning to ice. His being a child means he loses body heat much faster. If he were mammalian, Procal knew he would be shivering.

If his granddaughter and her mother are watching him through the void’s view screen, he wonders what they’re thinking. Are they laughing at his plight? Thinking that the cruel old man is finally getting what they deserve?

Ziyal glances back at him, and there’s pity in her eyes. No, they wouldn’t laugh at him. They were kind people. If anything, they were probably worrying about him, though he’s done nothing to deserve it.

“Doctor Bashir, he looks like he’s freezing.”

“You’re right. I’ll get him a heat pack.” The doctor fetches a rubbery looking square, and presses a button on it. “Hold this, or tuck it under your shirt.”

He clutches it to his chest, and it slowly warms up. Though it isn’t very strong, the cold no longer feels so biting, and the thermal blanket gradually warms, actually having something to insulate, now. Much more comfortable, though the lights are still painful.

Finally, the shapeshifter leaves to message his contacts. Procal is left with the doctor and his granddaughter. He stares at the girl, ignoring how uncomfortable she looks. The doctor steps between them to scan him again, but he leans to the side to maintain the stare. “Would you like something for your headache?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll request some quarters for you.”

An idea comes to him, though he knows the answer will be no. He makes eye contact with the girl as he speaks to the doctor. “Tora Ziyal is my granddaughter, perhaps I should stay with her. Her quarters will be set for a Cardassian already, won’t they? No extra work for any of you _Federaji_ officers.”

“No. I’ll have my friend adjust the settings of a room for you. It won’t be any trouble.”

He smiles up at the doctor, tilting his head. “I’m just a child, will you really leave me in a room by myself, Doctor?”

“We’ll discuss that with the Captain.”


	9. Resurrection: 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> almost to the part where little Procal meets Garak lol

**Afterlife: Resurrection - 4**

The Captain decides that Procal will have a security guard posted to stand outside the door of his quarters, both to make sure he doesn’t attempt anything, and to act as a responsible adult in case he needs something. They will check up on him once an hour, and he will receive a visit from the shapeshifter later. He pitches his idea of staying with Ziyal to the man, but is once more denied.

“For all we know, you could be an agent sent here to hurt her.”

“I commend you for your precaution, sir, it’s very Cardassian. But, Captain, what damage could I do, in this weakened child’s body?”

“I don’t make a habit of underestimating Cardassians. You’ll be fine in your own quarters. Doctor, why don’t you take him to get some proper clothes? I’m sure Mr. Garak will be glad to have a Cardassian customer.”

“Garak?” Procal tenses up at the name of the agent who murdered him, years ago.

“Is there a problem?”

“No, not at all. The name sounded familiar, Captain. I was a very important man, you know. I met many people.”

The Captain gives him a placating smile. “I’m sure.”

Annoying. The doctor beckons him to follow, and then asks Ziyal if she would like to accompany him. She agrees, and Procal wants to make a comment about how he knows of her infatuation with the man. Wants to tell her that the agent won’t save her, in the end.

She has the good sense as they walk through the Promenade to quietly tell the doctor, “Please don’t tell Garak who this boy shares DNA with. My father told me Garak was the one responsible for my grandfather’s death.”

The doctor shoots him a look, and Procal nods. “An interrogation gone too far. I can recall that incident quite vividly.”

“Maybe your mission is to go after Garak, then.”

“I don’t have a mission. If I do, the Prophets never bothered telling me what it was, _Doctor._ ” His ridges twitch with frustration, and he can practically feel them changing color, the child’s body untrained. “I too would appreciate it if you did not tell that Obsidian Order agent who I was. I have no desire to lose this life as well.”


	10. Resurrection: 5

**Afterlife: Resurrection - 5**

It is more than a shock to see the Obsidian Order agent, and Procal finds it unnerving to see him mending a rip in some sort of fabric. He keeps his expression as neutral as possible, and sticks close to Ziyal. The agent is fond of the girl, and wouldn’t do something to frighten her.

“Doctor, Ziyal, what an unexpected pleasure. Oh, who is this young man?”

“A customer. He needs an outfit.” The doctor physically moves him away from Ziyal and towards the tailor. Procal scowls, lifting his head. The cold is settling in again, and it hurts to tilt his head up. “Something warm.”

“Of course. I’m certain I have something near his size I can alter now... Doctor, may I assume that you will be paying for my services? He doesn’t look to have a slip to his name.”

It takes all his self-restraint not to flinch when the agent touches his arm, and all his mental discipline to keep himself from drowning in the memory of his interrogation. He fights not to see the same man, much younger, a determined shine in his pale blue eyes, lifting up a knife.

_There was blood seeping through the thin clothes he’d been granted, and he could feel a cold ache seeping into his bones as his life drained away. Being reduced to begging, as the agent lost himself in the task-_

“What’s your name, dear boy?”

He pries himself out of the memory and focuses on what he needs to do. He needs to lie, needs to find an appropriate story to hide who he truly is, but explain why he’s with Ziyal. Something believable, but impossible to determine by hacking into records alone. Bashir hasn’t filed a report just yet. For once he’s grateful for his son’s outrageous behavior as he responds, “ _Dukat_.”

“Really? You do bear quite a resemblance to him, I suppose.” The agent is searching his face, looking for any sign of deception. Procal sets his shoulders back, steeling himself.

“Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I resemble my father?”

“I take it you are not one of his legitimate children.”

“No.” He bares his teeth and growls, “I hear you’re my sister’s friend. If you do anything untoward to her, I’ll-”

“I promise, child, that I have no desire to harm your sister,” the agent says in a soothing voice. “I’d like to get started on your clothes before you freeze. You look quite cold, and I do not want a child to pass out from hypothermia in my shop.” The agent turns to find a shirt for him, and Procal takes the change of subject as a victory. He shoots a look back at Ziyal and the doctor, a _play along with my story or else._

His granddaughter doesn’t look very excited at the prospect of pretending to have a half brother, and he doesn’t trust the human to keep the secret very long. Pity. Now that he thinks about it, perhaps it would have been easier to call himself Skrain’s son from the beginning. 

If only the creatures had given him some warning, he wouldn’t have made such a mess of things.


	11. Insurance: Introduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhh here's another au of afterlife, this time where I inject my disko kid Kyle from my WIP fic called Insurance, where I give Dukat Seska's storyline because honestly,,,it suits him. in Afterlife the kid dies young due to bad hybrid genes, but in Insurance he'll live (mostly) happily on ds9  
> this verse will probably only be 2 or 3 parts long

**Afterlife: Insurance - Introduction**

“Ow!” Procal startles, and realizes two things at once. First, he’s finally capable of looking away from the dreadful visions he’s plagued by. Second, a young boy has just plopped to the ground by his feet. He looks down at him, and dread settles deep inside of him. He recognizes the boy, even though the visions rarely show him.

It is, as painful as it is to admit it internally, his youngest grandson. Kyle Sisko. The boy looks like someone had smoothed out all the ridges and scales of a Cardassian, and then used too warm a palette to color him in. His hair is distinctly not Cardassian, the tight curls not found anywhere on his home planet.

In short, the boy looks entirely too human, just like his sire. 

Despite his human heritage, the boy is dressed like a proper Cardassian youth, and when he speaks, it is in flawless kardasi, full of suspicion. “Who are you? Where am I?”

A cold pressure pushes down on his back until he kneels next to the boy and answers, “I’m Procal Dukat. This is my home.”

The boy looks around, confusion in his eyes. “I’ve never seen a place like this before. Is your name really Dukat? That’s my Yadik’s name.”

“I am your ya’yadik.”

“Yadik said my Cardassian ya’yadik was dead.”

“He was correct.”

“Oh.” He pulls his legs up to his chest and wraps his arms around them. “Does that mean I’m dead too?”

The visions haven’t shown him the child in a while, perhaps he would get to watch the boy’s death soon. He doubts the creatures would bring Kyle here while he was still alive, but maybe... “Most likely.”

Kyle looks disappointed, frowning. “If I am, that means I died before I ever got to meet my human father. Yadik promised I would meet him someday.” There’s nothing he can say to that. When he stays silent, the boy continues, “I wonder if he’ll tell my father about me, or if he’ll try to forget about me. Ziyal is going to be sad, though. She likes me, and I think Yadik will tell her.”

“Perhaps. Do you remember how you died, child?”

The boy thinks for a while, chewing on one of his fingers as he tries to uncover the memory. “The last thing I remember is seeing Yadik... I was sick. It was hard to breathe or move, and he was holding me, saying I was going to be alright as soon as we got to some station.”

“Your genetic condition?” The girl had suffered from breathing issues as a young child, her hybrid genes not working in her favor. Humans were fragile, no doubt the inferior genes had caused a number of issues in his grandson.

Kyle nods. “I think so. But... It was different, then just not being able to breathe. I felt sick. And it was cold...” The boy seems much smaller when he says that, arms wrapping around his thin frame. A dull look enters his eyes. “It was so cold.”

After a moment of hesitation, Procal puts a hand on the boy’s shoulder, fingers twitching at the first sensation of touch in an eternity. Kyle looks up at him, and his eyes are rimmed red, his skin pallid and scales brittle. His ridges are devoid of any coloring, where little children are supposed to be spotted or flushed with emotion.

Pitiful thing.


	12. Resurrection: 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reread some of the stuff on memory-beta that i'd forgotten and will be basing Procal's thoughts about Garak using that information from now on

**Afterlife: Resurrection - 6**

The Obsidian Order agent takes his measurements under the careful watch of Ziyal and Doctor Bashir. Procal hates how thin he is in this child’s body, how he’s practically skin, scales, and bones. It brings up horrible memories, a starving Cardassia, devoid of the resources needed to feed and nourish her people. It wasn’t until adulthood that he knew what it was to truly not know hunger.

In that respect, he can look at Ziyal and know that she is his blood; she is a survivor. She knows struggle. And though it is still so difficult to look past her odd coloring, the alien ridges on her nose… he can see a determined girl when he gets past that.

“You’re very thin, my dear boy. Perhaps you should join your sister and I for lunch one day. I’ll treat you to a good and proper meal.”

Garak had dined with him on plenty of occasions in his old life, working his way into his inner circle like a parasite. Procal frowns at the offer, but knows he must accept if he wishes to keep up his lie.

At least he will be able to keep an eye on the man and his intentions with his granddaughter. Perhaps he could distract her from her infatuation with him. Turn her attention to herself, so perhaps she might be spared her fate. Then again, do the creatures even want that? Now is not the time for such thoughts, though.

“I suppose. If it’s alright with my sister.” Though it irks him, in this game he must treat her as his elder. He looks back at her, and she almost squirms under his gaze. When he glances back at Garak, he sees a flash of suspicion in his pale blue eyes.

“Um… Perhaps next week. You need time to adjust to the station, brother, and to get better. Right, Doctor Bashir?”

“Ah, yes. He needs a lot of rest, and I’ll see if I can come up with a diet plan to get some meat on those bones.”

Garak finishes his measurements, and asks him if there’s anything he’d prefer. He asks for dull colors, and something warm. “Something Cardassian.” He won’t wear something human, and certainly not Bajoran. While he’s willing to pretend that he doesn’t see the latter as inferior, he will not partake in any part of their culture, not even if it would let him fit in better on this station.


	13. Resurrection: 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this verse is gonna have a Bit of underage drinking in it lmao

**Afterlife: Resurrection - 7**

Ziyal takes her leave as they exit the Promenade, and Procal stops to watch her as she walks away. He only moves when the Doctor clears his throat, and scowls as he’s led through the hallways of the station. The Doctor shows him to the quarters he will be staying in, and promises to pick up his clothes for him when they’re ready. He’s introduced to the Starfleet security officer posted outside his door, a human man he does not recognize.

“Hey, kiddo. I’m your babysitter.” The man does not appear to enjoy his assignment at all. Procal decides not to bother speaking to him. He enters the room when the door is opened, and looks around.

The quarters are fairly small, but plenty big enough for him at his size. He’s relieved to see that it has not been renovated to fit Starfleet regulation. The bed and other pieces of furniture are Cardassian. There’s a replicator in one wall, and he intends to make full use of it once the Doctor leaves.

“If you feel sick, or need a hypo for your headache, just tell the Lieutenant. He’ll call for me.”

“When may I see Ziyal again?”

“That’s up to her and the Captain.” 

The Doctor finally goes, and Procal lingers in the middle of the room. Once he’s sure the man isn’t coming back, he goes up to the replicator. It’s easy enough to get rid of the default restrictions on it so he can order a glass of kanar, alcohol included. It’s always been a bad habit of his to drink kanar on an empty stomach, but he needs it to cope with all of this. He downs the glass. It’s poor quality, but it will have to do.

He goes back to the replicator, and after it recycles his glass, he requests, “Another glass- no, belay that. A bottle of kanar.” A twisted bottle appears. Taking it, he goes to the small bed in the room and sits down. After a long sip, he coughs, and then sighs.

Looking around, he asks aloud, “Why did you send me here?” He doesn’t get a response from the creatures, not that he really expected one. “If you wanted to get through to my granddaughter or son, you shouldn’t have sent a starving child. You should have sent that damned Bajoran woman. Skrain listened to his mistress more than he ever did to me.” A chill runs down his spine, and he takes that as their way of telling him they’d heard him, as their way of confirming his suspicions.

They want him to interfere with the timeline.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow/talk to me on Tumblr: @oblio-k and @procaldukat


End file.
